


And So It Was Written

by Caro_the_Poet



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caro_the_Poet/pseuds/Caro_the_Poet
Summary: He loved stories. Especially Nanny’s stories, which were woven through with doom and darkness, blood and world domination. Any five-year-old would, but Warlock thought Nanny’s stories were especially grand, as she made them all up from her head, just for him. He had the best nanny out of all his friends.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	And So It Was Written

_Six Years Before the End of the World_

Nanny Ashtoreth stood uncertainly outside the door of Warlock’s bedroom, clutching a leather-bound book with squeaky-new pages. The words _Holy Bible_ were emblazoned in tall gold letters across the cover. She replayed her earlier conversation with an ever-frustrated Harriet Dowling… or tried to.

Something about _religious education_ and _expectations_ and _Tad’s mother won’t shut up about it, so canyoureadthistohimplease_ before she shoved the bible into Nanny’s reluctant hands and disappeared through the sitting room doorway, muttering obscenities about interfering in-laws. 

She gritted her teeth. This was going to be unpleasant, of course, but she was a _demon_ ; she was bloody _used_ to unpleasant, and it had to be done. Perhaps, at least, she could have some fun with it.

She entered the room to find Warlock already tucked in bed, watching her expectantly. “Is that a story for me, Nanny?” 

He loved stories. Especially Nanny’s stories, which were woven through with doom and darkness, blood and world domination. Any five-year-old would, but Warlock thought Nanny’s stories were especially grand, as she made them all up from her head, just for him. He had the best nanny out of all his friends.

“Of a sort,” Nanny answered. She sighed (it sounded rather like a hiss) and pulled up the rocking chair to Warlock’s bed. Opened the Bible to the first page.

 _“In the beginning…”_ She stopped. Bit her lip for a moment. Set the Bible aside. “I know this story already, Warlock. I’ll tell it instead of reading it.”

Warlock leaned back against his pillow and waited with bated breath while Nanny sorted her thoughts. Finally, she looked at him through her dark glasses and smiled.

_In the beginning, there was an Angel who watched over a beautiful garden. Inside the garden, there lived the first Man and the first Woman, and a very clever Serpent.  
Now, the Serpent had once been an angel himself, but he had sought after forbidden knowledge, and so was cast out of Heaven to the earth._

_The Serpent, always out of sight of the vigilant Angel, befriended the Man and the Woman and told them of this forbidden knowledge. They desired to have it, too. The Serpent told them how to get it and gave them a choice: You can have the knowledge of God, but it will come at a terrible price._

_The Man and the Woman chose knowledge. Freedom. And God cast them out of the garden, just as She cast the Serpent out of Heaven._

_The Angel looked on the Man and the Woman, abandoned to the wilderness without protection, without hope. God had cursed them, but their guardian could not. He drew his flaming sword, his only weapon, and gave it to them for warmth and protection._

_This defiant act was also the first act of mercy, and so it was written many years later, ‘Mercy triumphs over judgment.’_

_The Serpent was left alone, and he warily approached the Angel as he stood on the garden wall, watching the Man and the Woman make their weary way across the desert. Billowing black clouds rose up from the East, bringing a cold wind and the smell of the first rain, and the Serpent shivered; for above all things he feared heavenly water: it was the only thing that could destroy him._

_The Angel saw the Serpent’s fear, and instead of smiting him (as he should have), he smiled and extended a warm, white wing, shielding the Serpent from the rain. This defiant act was also the first act of kindness, and so it was written many years later, ‘With everlasting kindness I will have compassion on thee.’_

Warlock squinted at Nanny suspiciously. “This isn’t like the stories you usually tell.”

“Isn’t it?” She was lost in another world, another time. Soft, white warmth and radiant smiles, laughter on an ancient garden wall. _Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh?_ Only it wasn’t funny, after all. The Angel had been right all along. She came back to herself with a quick, hissing breath.

“There’s no blood and no death,” Warlock grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s _boring_. ‘Sides, you never tell me to be kind or nice. Only the gardener does--”

“Oh, you misunderstand,” Nanny interrupted smoothly. “I’m not telling you to be nice. The Angel’s kindness was quite the end of him. He was severely punished, and so was the Serpent.”

“How?”

_The Serpent had given forbidden knowledge, and the Angel had given forbidden mercy. And so their punishment was a forbidden love. They would love each other for all eternity, but this love could never be so much as spoken of, or it would destroy them. They went their separate ways, loving each other beyond all reason but unwilling to put the other in danger. And so it was written, many years later, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that he lays down his life for his friend.’_

“Couldn’t they ever be together?” asked Warlock hopefully.

“Never _ever_.” Her golden eyes glinted fiercely through her glasses. “So the moral of the story, dear child, is to _never_ show mercy and _never_ be unnecessarily kind, because that is weakness. It will destroy you. You are going to rule the whole world; _you_ must be strong.”

“The gardener says Love is the strongest thing in the whole universe.”

“Don’t listen to him. Listen to _me_.”

She kissed Warlock goodnight, and as she looked up toward the doorway, she caught a glimpse of the gardener’s coat, just vanishing from sight.

***

 _Shit shit shit shit shit_. Crowley threw his glasses on an end table. He stripped off the shoes, the dress, the stockings, the _damned_ uncomfortable garter-thing. It had been _so_ much easier to present female back in ancient Jerusalem. What bloody bastard idiot had invented garters and—and _corsets_ and all the miserable undergarments women were forced to wear??

 _Shit. SHIT._ That had been him. He sucked an exasperated breath through his teeth as he pulled the hairpins out of his hair and shook it down.

Maybe Aziraphale was right. Maybe evil really _did_ carry the seeds of its own destruction. 

BUT WHAT IN THE BLOODY NAME OF _ANYBODY_ WAS AZIRAPHALE DOING OUTSIDE IN THAT HALLWAY???

Crowley tugged on a bathrobe and collapsed in a chair, despair weighing him down. How much had Aziraphale heard?

Not that it mattered, in any case. It was never spoken of, this yearning, protective love that drew them back together over and over through the millennia. But they both knew it was there. They both knew that somehow it had evolved from interest to business to friendship to something that felt a lot like _I cannot bear to think of an existence without you_. Crowley would have gladly thrown caution to the wind any number of times, but Aziraphale—ever the guardian, ever the Protector—would not take any action that might put either of them in danger. 

Crowley pulled himself up from the chair; strode to the huge open window that fully bisected the east wall. The stars burned brightly in the dark canopy of sky, whispering to him. His fingers itched to touch unrefined stardust, to create galaxies and nebulae, to string the ephemeral light across the infinite black, as he had before time began. It was nearly more than he could bear.

 _“Is it not enough?”_ he shouted into the empty night. _“Is it not enough to cast me out? To cut me off from Your light, from my purpose? Must I be tortured eternally? I cannot have my stars, and I cannot have my angel, who is even more to me than the stars. Do You never tire of it? Of creating sentient beings and then testing them to destruction?”_

There was no answer from the sky. He closed the window. He did not see Aziraphale down below, wringing his hands as he made his own lonely way back to the garden cottage. 

_The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives_

The world was saved. They were on their own side. And on the bus ride home there were knees touching and fingers slotted together; and in Crowley’s flat there were soft first kisses and bruising, possessive kisses and tangled limbs and ecstatic sighs.

And love. So much love. 

Crowley fell asleep with his back to Aziraphale’s chest, Aziraphale’s arm, heavy and protecting, draped over and curled around him. Heaven and Hell were coming for them; they might not live out another twenty-four hours; but at least they had had _this_. No amount of hellfire or holy water could undo this night.

Sleep came in peace, but it did not leave him there. Walls of flame possessed his sleep-drunk brain, a dusty bookshop going up in smoke. His own screams echoing in his ears: _Aziraphale! I can’t find you! Somebody killed my best friend!_ Empty, hopeless, lost in a sea of smoke and heat.

Doom and darkness.

Desolation.

_Crowley. Crowley, wake up._

His eyes flew open, his heart pounding, his body drenched in cold sweat. He drew in gasping, hissing breaths.

“ _Aziraphale—_ ”

“I’m here, dearest, I’m here.” Aziraphale gathered Crowley in his arms, pulled his head down to rest on his broad chest, stroked his fire-colored hair. “Shh, shh. Only a dream, my love. Breathe.”

Crowley relaxed against Aziraphale’s chest, willing his breathing to slow. Damned bodies, always malfunctioning and screwing around with one’s emotions. Only thing he hated about sleep.

He found his voice at last. “Wasn’t a dream. It really happened. You were gone.” He felt a rush of tears to his eyes before he could stop them, and he sat up, pulling away from Aziraphale. “You were bloody _gone_ and I thought you were dead.”

Anger at himself, at Aziraphale, at Heaven and Hell, welled up in him and overflowed before he could stop it. His nerves thrummed with it; his eyes burned. Aziraphale sat back against the headboard, stunned. “Crowley—”

“ _No_ , angel! They were coming for me and the world was ending and none of it mattered because you were _gone_ and it was like Falling all over again. There was nothing left, understand? Just let it all end and if it didn’t take me with it I was ready to walk straight into heaven and drink holy water.”

Aziraphale blanched.

“And the last thing I’d ever said to you—” He paused, unable to speak for a moment. The words burned into his brain; he had replayed them over and over as he sat in a bar, drunk, waiting for everything to end. “I said I’d never think about you agai—”

“ _Stop_.” Aziraphale sprang forward, pulling Crowley’s shaking body into his arms again. “Don’t. I know you didn’t mean it. I knew it then. Don’t torture yourself, _please_.”

Crowley only nodded, his strength spent. He leaned into Aziraphale’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of cocoa and cinnamon and dusty books. _Breathe in, breathe out; he’s here now_. 

Aziraphale reclined back against the pillows, bringing Crowley with him. He made soft, comforting noises as he dragged his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Dearest,” he said at last, “may I tell you a story?”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck. He was only half paying attention, still trying to shake off the flame-scorched nightmare.

Aziraphale began.

_In the beginning, there was an Angel who watched over a beautiful garden. Inside the garden, there lived the first Man, the first Woman, and a very clever Serpent._

Aziraphale had Crowley’s attention now. This all sounded vaguely familiar.

_The Serpent saw that the Man and the Woman were confined within the garden walls, and had no knowledge of anything beyond it. He desired to give them a gift, even though he knew it was forbidden. Even though he knew that if they accepted it, they would be cast out of paradise, even as he had been. He told them this. And he told them of the knowledge they might obtain; how it would course like fire through their blood and illuminate the world. How they would build and discover and dream. The Serpent offered them a priceless gift: the freedom to choose._

_This defiant act was also the first true act of kindness, and so it was written many years later, ‘Love is kind.’_

_The Angel saw the Humans make their choice, saw them cast out. He grieved for them and feared for them, and so he gave them his flaming sword, his only weapon. He meant it to be a kindness, but the sword would become War, and would curse the Humans with millennia of heartache._

_The Serpent joined the Angel on the garden wall, watching the Man and the Woman make their lonely way across the desert. The Angel was afraid, for he had no weapon, and the Serpent could have ended him there. But instead, the Serpent smiled and offered the Angel another priceless gift: friendship._

_This defiant act was also the first true act of mercy, and so it was written, many years later, “Blessed are the merciful.”_

_Storm clouds rose above them and the first rain began to fall, and the Angel saw that the Serpent was afraid. He returned the Serpent's offer of friendship, inviting him to take shelter under his wing. And so it was written, many years later, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.”_

“ _Ngk_ ,” said Crowley. It was all he could manage at the moment.

Aziraphale continued. 

_The Angel and the Serpent found their lives knit together from that moment. Some days it felt like a beautiful gift, and others it felt like the most cruel kind of punishment. They loved each other beyond all imagining, but the forces of Heaven and Hell stood against them. At the very end of all things, the Angel was taken away from the Serpent, and all seemed lost._

_But the Angel found his way back. Together they thwarted Heaven and Hell, and saved the earth. And after it was over the Angel made a vow to the Serpent: that he would never again leave his side, and that if they were ever separated, he would search the whole earth, and Above, and Below, and every star, and not stop until he found him—_

_\--just as it was written, many years ago: ‘The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part me and thee.’_

Crowley clung to Aziraphale, not daring to look up lest Aziraphale see the telltale moisture in his golden eyes. He gulped. Took a breath. Thought for a moment.

“You _bastard!_ ” He sat up and fairly glowered into the angel’s startled blue eyes. “You bloody bastard! You sat outside that bloody door and listened to me tell that whole _goddamned_ story to Warlock! What the _hell_ were you playing at?”

Aziraphale pouted. “There really is no need for that kind of language.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Well, if you _must_ know, I came to say goodnight to Warlock and see if you needed anything, and you were just beginning the story and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“So you waited.”

“I _waited_ , and then you got to the end, and I couldn’t bear it, and so I left. That’s all.”

Aziraphale looked contrite. Crowley felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he let it take over. He did love his beautiful, eavesdropping, bastard of an angel. “S’okay. I liked your version better, anyway.”

***

Some hours and many kisses later, Aziraphale slept peacefully. Crowley stood at the window, watching the stars. He couldn’t see them as well here, in London. Dim and distant, not even like stars, really. Just vaguely shiny motes of dust. _What half-witted buggar came up with the idea for electric lights, anyway?_

 _Oh. Shit._ He’d gotten a commendation for that one. Light pollution, and all that.

He opened the window; felt the cool, damp breeze. _“Did You really mean for us to be together, all this time?”_ He spoke quietly, so as not to wake Aziraphale. _“Did You really plan it this way, all along?”_

There was no answer from the sky. But perhaps it didn’t matter.

The gardener had been right: Love was, indeed, the strongest force in the universe; and the fact that it was ineffable didn’t change the power that it held.

_As it was written many years before: ‘Love never fails.’_


End file.
